Author: Spring 2016 Student

Playground for the World’s Sexual Fantasies

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

Kamala Kempadoo begins her monograph, Sexing the Caribbean: Gender, Race, and Sexual Labor, with the following quote: “Territories that once served as ex-havens for the colonial elite are today frequented by sex tourists, and several of the island economies now depend upon the region’s racialized, sexualized image” (1). This statement sets the tone for the rest of her book as she analyzes the intersection of gender, sexuality, and race with economics in the Caribbean. Kempadoo argues that there is an engrained “heteropatriarchy” seen through Caribbean societies, which draw from colonial theory to continue oppressive practices to further economic advances in the islands (9). Sexing the Caribbean strives to provide its audience with a dynamic, non-Western ethnocentric understanding of the history and role of prostitution and sex labor in the Caribbean today.

Sexing the Caribbean begins with the historical background of colonial involvement in the islands, like Jamaica, Trinidad, and Curacao, and how race came to be sexualized. Kempadoo retells the history of different areas in the Caribbean being settled by colonial powers, which imposed new social hierarchal frameworks that were mostly based on race (5). Even after emancipation from these white men, white bias still defined sexual relations as local men began to prefer one skin color of women to another. Here the introduction of the “SanDom,” or “a migrant woman of lightly brown skin tone with a slender though shapely body and loosely curling hair,” became a common reference in society (144). Kempadoo continues to explain the impact of migrants to the countries located in the Caribbean, not only racially but also economically. Through her retelling of women’s internalization of gender roles and their role in society as sex workers, she highlights the intersection of race and economics. The intersectionality of race and economics was explored by Kempadoo in her analysis of sex laborers and the job opportunities available to them based on race. It was intriguing to read about how women in the Caribbean took pride in the fact that—for the majority of sex laborers—they envisioned themselves as their own boss, creating their own hours; it was a form of women empowerment in a paternalistic society. Sex became a source of power for women as they “capitalized upon white men’s sexual desire for women of color” (54). Women in this environment established their dominance and power by setting boundaries with clients—such as certain body parts like lips and breast were off limits—and defined the notion of romance and love for their community. Through this loophole of empowerment, women of the Caribbean found a way to be economically sufficient and gain power in society. Although Kempadoo champions the strength of these women of color, she also recognizes that not every woman was so lucky to gain a hold in society. For example, she touches on stories of women acting as “pimps” of other women, and men controlling the income and working hours of a prostitute. Just as women affected each other, men visiting the Caribbean also played a role in determining the economics of prostitution. As tourism plays a huge part in the economics of the Caribbean, Kempadoo also interviewed many male tourists looking for female company. She states that, “The woman are not, in the imaginations of the men, prostitutes who are having sex for money, but are perceived as poor women who genuinely enjoy the sex” (123). This particular framing shows the different global perspectives of prostitution and how the local interpretation based on colonial history and job opportunities greatly differ.

Kamala Kempadoo says that her work draws on the foundations of Third World feminism, which is based on gender relations and “material-feminist traditions” (11). As written about in her work, she relies on a bottom up approach to her qualitative research through interviews, recording personal stories, and local opinions and myths (11, 65). Kempadoo shares little research has been done on this region of the world in regards to the “historical racialization of social relations” (55, 64). Therefore, the basis of her data collection—before she could conduct any interviews—relied on the works of scholars, historians, and anthropologists (17). Synthesizing the information of other scholars is how Kamala Kempadoo situates herself in conversation with other authors. By learning the structure of society and the influence of cultural in specific areas, Kempadoo could contextualize the impact that colonial history had on defining race and sexuality in the Caribbean. Important structural factors Kempadoo had to analyze ware the legal codes written about prostitution. I found this aspect of her work to be a strength of her argument as it gave the readers a better understanding of the time and history of how government played a part in regulating prostitution (89). As well as relational structures, the author continually references to the importance of needing to know the local slang, like SanDom, to comprehend the complexity of the history and role sex laborers play in everyday society.

While reading Sexing the Caribbean, Kamala Kempadoo did a brilliant job of both intriguing and greatly disturbing her readers. As a political science major, I find one of the most intriguing features of sex work in the Caribbean to be the role of the government institutionalizing legal regulations for prostitution by women, but also, on the flip side, criminalizing the economic transactions of sex by homosexual or bisexual men. This in depth analysis of the intersectionality of politics and sexuality was very interesting to me. One story she including about “The Happy Camp in Curacao” was particularly disturbing and illustrative of the oppressive situation surrounding sex (90). Kempadoo did a wonderful job of drawing her readers in through similar stories of how men referred to workingwomen. One quote that stood out to me was a man referring to a woman as “butt ugly” (124). The way Kempadoo reflects the cultural interpretation of “hegemonic constructs of sexuality” served her purpose as hooking the audience into the conversation about sexuality and politics in the Caribbean (2).

Another area I thought Kempadoo did justice in explaining was the role of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the Caribbean. Kempadoo acknowledges that “AIDS is now established as the leading cause of death in the Caribbean” and the “initial problem of the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the Caribbean is traced to gay sex tourism” (167). She traces the history of the epidemic as well as explains the role this disease has in the local communities regarding gender roles, sexuality, and economic consequences. One question I had for the author was how the organizations targeting vulnerable populations, such as female sex laborers, and the government interacted since the government regulated these “vectors of disease” in the first place and criminalized homosexual acts (169, 170). Another question I had for Kempadoo is why she did not focus on organizations—if any—trying to reach homosexual sex laborers as she previously states the illness was introduced via “gay sex tourism” (167). Also I have questions about how the these organizations were continuing to operate within a society that regulates and perpetuates a stigma of discrimination against sex workers. Many scholars forget to include the vulnerable populations, such as sex workers, migrants, and adolescents, but Kamala Kempadoo successfully created a mental picture of the complexity of the HIV/AIDS issue at hand in the Caribbean. As someone who has an interest in medical humanities, her inclusion of medical violence as a disturbing aspect of daily life was very effective. She discusses how although “the government tolerates all activities in the name of servicing male sexual desires” many at risk groups for contracting HIV are denied healthcare and treatment (102).

Kamala Kempadoo effectively outlines the influence of colonial history on the racial and economic boundaries seen today in the Caribbean, especially when discussing women in sex work. She also includes a political aspect to her analysis, which adds another dimension to her argument that gender roles were established by colonial powers and instilled in local culture. Kempadoo demonstrates strength as an author by equally intriguing and disturbing her audience as well as providing an informative historical and legal context. Sexing the Caribbean should definitely be read by students participating in a Gender and Sexuality Studies course, if they have an interest in human rights and prostitution, or would simply like to be well aware of the impact of colonialism has today on social structures and sex work.

Kempadoo, Kamala. Sexing the Caribbean: Gender, Race, and Sexual Labor. New York: Routledge, 2004. Print.

Gaga Feminism

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

Erica Miller

Professor Gonzalez

GSS 101

18 February 2016

Gaga Feminism: Radical or Realistic?

Lady Gaga has become an iconic 21st century figure through her radical costumes, performances, and songs. Author J. Jack Halberstam[1] argues that if society follows her push against normality and continues forward with a rebellious attitude, an unstructured society will emerge in which equality is a reality for everyone. By eliminating all social norms, there will be no such thing as a social outlier or ‘freak.’ Halberstam argues that many of the modern feminist and gay-rights movements actually reaffirm society’s need of a ‘correct’ and ‘incorrect’ way of life, which ultimately only benefit the ‘white’ feminist and gay culture.

Halberstam breaks his argument down into three main points: ‘Gaga Genders,’ ‘Gaga Sexualities,’ and ‘Gaga Relations.’ He then uses the arguments made in these three sections to create his overarching idea of ‘Gaga Feminism’ and what it would mean for society to take on these ideas. For Halberstam, the entire point of going Gaga is to express the most radical parts of yourself so that eventually it will not be seen as ‘heroic’ to have radical self-expression. Instead, this will be understood as everyday expression and there will no longer be limiting sexual, gender, or relationship categories to which people must belong. Instead, people will just be seen as people. The constraining labels forced upon us by society will no longer have a purpose and everyone will “value mutation and uniqueness, no longer investing in the normal and the lack of difference, because there will no longer be a ‘normal’ to identify with” (141).

Jack Halberstam is a known gender theorist and professor. Self-identifying as gender-fluid, he has transitioned from female to male, but retained the name Judith, as well as Jack. Jack is in a relationship with a self-identified queer female, who remains unnamed throughout the book, but whom he often looks to when creating personal narrative and dialogue. As a gender studies professor, he has visited numerous countries, and often draws on these experiences to portray the differences in American gender and sexual relations from other countries around the world. However, Gaga Feminism is more closely directed at the American public, using examples from movies and television shows that are primarily American to illustrate his different points.

In order to make his points relatable to his reader, he uses examples that come from Hollywood that seem to ‘push the boundaries’ of subject material. Instead of praising these movies and shows that finally seem to highlight scenarios other than the ‘typical nuclear family,’ he criticizes them by explaining how putting them on display actually codifies that specific type of relationship, so that any variant of that relationship is perceived as atypical.

With new technologies becoming available that make it easier for non-traditional families to become pregnant and have children, society must reevaluate the different boxes it has for gender and each gender’s reproductive capabilities. In the section titled Gaga Genders, Halberstam reflects on societies obsession with breaking out of the typical gender roles and recognizing famous variations in these roles. In examples such as the “first pregnant man” and the movie The Switch, Halberstam points out how society believes it is being progressive for showcasing these non-traditional families. In the movies such as Switch Up, society is tricked into believing it is promoting female liberation from men, and celebrating the newfound independence of women in the 21st century. However, Halberstam points out “these new narratives about female independence tend to be white, because it is white women who see single motherhood as an opportunity rather than a burden” (40). These narratives are necessary, because they are “correct in predicting that when shifts occur in the realm of reproductive technologies, social change is inevitable” (35). However, when these narratives only look at the “white stereotypical lesbian” and are encouraged by the general population, a sense of ‘correct lesbian’ and ‘weird lesbian’ is embedded in societies mind.

This is a strong point made, as much of the feminist and queer activist literature is produced with racial blind spots. Halberstam does a good job of critiquing the typical feminist approach, applying his approach, and then explaining how his approach will help those of color instead of ignoring or hindering them. For example, when talking about gay-rights and social activism, Halberstam brought up the issues faced in San Francisco in the early 1970s. In order to try to achieve social equality, many gay-rights activists argued for further protection of the San Francisco queer population. However, “this drive to make the streets safe for white queer people resulted all too often in increased policing for people of color” (106). By adopting Halberstams policy and ‘going gaga sexually’ there would no longer be a need for protection for specific individuals. The idea of sexuality itself would be completely reimagined in which there were no categories of gay, straight, or lesbian. Instead, people would be individuals, with a fluid sexuality, in which people would appear to be located on different parts of the spectrum, but this spectrum would be identical for everyone.

Similarly, Halberstam takes a stand against the legalization of gay marriage. He argues that marriage as an institution is plagued with historical hatred and exclusivity. Instead of promoting the “pricey and pretentious wedding ceremony” (96) he supports the idea of a completely new system, dismantling the old system. Legalizing gay marriage within the classical marriage system would create two separate ideas of ‘homosexual marriage’ and ‘straight marriage’ creating a sort of “speciation within the homosexual and heterosexual people” (99).

I will agree that marriage as an institution has a long history of class exclusion, racial segregation, and religious purity. However, I do not think that it is reasonable to call for the complete disbandment of marriage ties. Socially, this is an idea that will never take hold. Too many of our social relations rely on the idea of a marriage vow, and I believe Halberstam underestimates the importance today’s youth puts on the marriage title. He tries to make the argument that in a sexually fluid society, it would be considered normal for individuals to live together without any title. This social community would be inclusive for all individuals, no longer having the ‘typical’ families that are arranged by marriage. This argument is set up for a communistic society, could never flourish in America. Couples are too dependent financially, and often time’s marriage is able to relieve some of the burdens. In addition, individuals are already living together free of the marriage title, however, many still desire this state recognition of their love.

By going Gaga, Halberstam is arguing for more than agreeing with the ideas that Lady Gaga promotes in her speeches and songs. Instead, he is promoting social chaos and becoming a “wretch in the machinery that is society” (140) that she embodies in all her social expressions. Society cannot advance with individuals sitting around complacent and falling into compartments that are created for them. Halberstam does a good job explaining how these compartments could be eliminated from society. However, the complete elimination on the scale that he is looking for is not one that I believe can be achieved. With everyone trying to ‘clog the machinery’ society would break apart. Anarchism would rise and there would no longer be a society in which to function. In a hypothetical world, Halberstam has created the ideal living situations. However, in reality, these situations cannot be produced.

[1] The book in which Halberstam makes these claims is Gaga Feminism.

Halberstam, Judith. Gaga Feminism: Sex, Gender, and the End of Normal. Boston: Beacon, 2012. Print

Freud’s Castration: Reexamination of Asian American Masculinity

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

978-0-8223-2636-6_pr

In Racial Castration, David Eng quotes Song Liling from David Hwang’s play M. Butterfly, “I am an Oriental. And being an Oriental, I could never be completely a man” (Eng 1).

Thus, Eng sets the tone of his book to analyze the image of the emasculated, homosexual and “never-completely-a-man” Asian American male. Currently an English Professor at University of Pennsylvania, Eng brings his specialized knowledge in Asian American studies, psychoanalysis, critical race theory, queer studies, and gender studies to deconstruct the Asian American masculinity as influenced by racism and sexism. Using psychoanalytic theory as foundation, Eng observes the images evoked in canonical and noncanonical Asian American texts. He situates the literature within their historical contexts, splitting his book into four focus: “the building of the transcontinental railroad, the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II, the era of cold war diplomacy, and the rescinding of immigration exclusion and the liberalization of immigrant policy from 1943 to 1965” (Eng 29). Eng uses a variety of literary texts to analyze the authors’ uses of racial and sexual images that influence the Asian American male characters’ psyche. Offering a unique analysis of the emasculated Asian American man, Eng provides an intriguing reevaluation of the science of psychoanalysis as a key component of Asian American male identity formations, arguing that racial and sexual fantasies intersect as legibility and social powers that form narratives of the Asian American man.

Eng insists on psychoanalysis as a science to properly dissect the construction of Asian American male narratives due to the convergence of sexual and racial differences in early psychoanalysis theories. While this particular field heavily influences feminist and queer theories due to its direct ties with sexuality, not much work has been done to connect psychoanalysis with racial concepts. However, race and sexuality have gone hand-in-hand to form the white man’s fantasies of the Oriental. Eng argues for the “impossibility of thinking about racism and sexism as separate discourses or distinct spheres of analysis” because “Asian American male is both materially and psychically feminized within the context of a larger U.S. cultural imaginary” (2). Incidentally, feminist and queer theories have a major blind spot. Their emphasis on “(hetero)sexual difference over and above every other type of social difference” provides a limiting understanding of masculinity, especially within Asian American discourse (5). Eng reexamines psychoanalysis, citing Freud’s “logic of fetishism” and narcissism, to insert race as a major factor that constructed the notions of aberrant and sexual perversions. Freud characterizes two important figures in his writings – the primitive and sexually degraded man in Totem and Taboo and the homosexual man in his essay “On Narcissim.” In the former, Freud pinpoints “primitive” sexual practices against the “civilized” man (6). Coincidentally, the primitive man symbolizes the “dark origins” of the “contemporary European psyche” and has not developed the modernity of the white European man (6). The primitive man captures a “well-preserved pictures of an early stage of [white European man’s] development” because he can’t control his wild sexual desires (7). Freud’s works reveals the racialized description of sexual acts, providing the foundation of a philosophical science that “helps authorize and reinforce the (re)production of social hierarchies, such as sexuality and race, as the essentialized and naturalized order of things” (5). In “On Narcissism,” Freud establishes the homosexual man as the model of “a stalled and pathological narcissism” and further connecting narcissism with the sexual libido and mental lives of “children and primitive peoples” (10). Freud’s descriptions of the uncivil primitive man, children and homosexual man – all who represent everything opposite of white racial progress – normalizes heterosexuality simultaneously with whiteness and stumped growth. Citing Judith Butler in Bodies That Matter, Eng further shows the layered identity of Asian American male bodies that experience sexualization and racialization. Butler, too, argues that compulsory heterosexuality works in hegemonic forms where the “threat of homosexuality” connects with “hegemonic, unmarked whiteness” (13). As race images reinforce sexual images and vice versa, the Asian American man becomes racially and sexually perverse, excluded from the normative.

Eng’s description of Asian American masculinity is nuanced and full of plurality. His careful reconstruction asks us readers to be cautious of constructing an antisexist identity that only serves to reaffirm white supremacy. Eng looks at the history of Asian American men such as their economic feminization (Asian male immigrants worked feminized professions such as in laundries, restaurants and tailor’s shops), political disenfranchisement (voting rights were not granted to Asian men until 1943-1952) and antimiscegenation and exclusion laws (such as the Page Act Law of 1875 that made communities like Chinatowns “exclusive ‘bachelor’ communities). These incidents stripped Asian American men from their rights to “normative (hetero)sexual reproduction, nuclear family formations, and entitlements to community” (18). Within this history, Asian American men internalizes this dominant narrative and exercises “self-regulation, “constrain[ing] the psychic limits of Asian American male subjectivity” (19). Eng cites the editors of Aiiieeee! as those who have met this constraint in thought. They argue that Asian American masculinity will be restored through a pure Asian martial tradition. Unfortunately, this tradition ties with “strident cultural nationalism, with its doctrine of compulsory heterosexuality and cultural authenticity” (21). The figure of the Asian American homosexual man is banned from the landscape. On the other hand, using psychoanalysis thought as well as gender and queer theory, Eng challenges racial black and white, as well as black and white sexuality. Thus, he puts the plurality of Asian American masculinity and identity at the forefront of his studies.

Despite it’s strong psychologically analysis of the Asian American man, Eng fails to give a strong analysis of the relationship between Asian American man and Asian American women. His chapters analyze Asian American male characters’ actions and their influences on women in literary texts, yet the direct relationship between the two genders of the community could be studied with more depth to understand gender relations within the community. This could be valuable in determining the mutual gaze of the two genders influenced under the context of white supremacy. Finally, Eng makes Freud’s works and theories relevant to convey new ones. With a political agenda to reaffirm positive images of Asian American men, Eng will find limits in this psychoanalysis tool due to the problematic ideas embedded in Freud’s oeuvres. Do we really need to make Freud relevant in new theories? I believe in the essential understanding of Freud, yet we should give him a critical eye when we want to adopt certain theories.

Racial Castration examines the patriarchal and sexist institution that formed the emasculated Asian American male identity. Eng provides us with a theory that is both “descriptive and political” (28). He uses psychoanalytical theory to describe the Asian American identity formation and subjectivity in terms of its racial and sexual conditions. At the same time, he “reformulate(s) and … transform(s) the conditions under which we claim our identities and communities” (28). The self-assertion tone, based on interdisciplinary groundwork, gives the book a powerfully positive agenda to reconstruct a healthy racial and sexual image of Asian American men.

 

The Nuptial Deal: Same Sex Marriage and Neo-Liberal Governance

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

9780226895291

On June 26, 2015 the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage. Thousands of LGBT couples can now receive state recognition for their partnerships. Some of these couples had been together for decades and they understood better than most heterosexual couples just what their marriage meant. Homosexual couples now had access to 1,138 federal rights only available to married people, they could rest easy knowing they would not be barred from seeing one another and their children in the hospital, and they hoped that this legal decision would increase public acceptance.  This issue had become a social focal point for the LGBT community taking precedent over issues such as improved welfare state. Jaye Cee Whitehead’s 2011 The Nuptial Deal: Same Sex Marriage & Neo-Liberal Governance explains the arguments leading up to this historic decision and explores the reasoning and exclusions that made marriage equality the focal issue for the LGBT community.

Whitehead expertly explains neo-liberal governance and how this ideology structures the arguments both for and against marriage equality in the United States. Neo liberalism is the application of efficiency and practicality to the management of the population. Whitehead emphasizes the use of governance rather than government because often this management occurs not through formalized laws but through underlying institutions. Neo-liberal governance stresses methods of self-governance by pushing responsibility away from the state and on to the self. Marriage is, therefore, a technology of neo-liberal governance because it transfers problems such as poverty or care for the sick from the social sphere to the private family sphere.

Whitehead argues that the prominent LGBT dialogue, particularly from Marriage Rights Now[i] (MRN) the group she investigated, plays in to the neo-liberal framework by promising to reinforce rather than destabilize the social structure. In the “nuptial deal” homosexual partners agree to maintain marriage systems that reduce state expenditures and the state in return provides privacy and legitimization to their union. The nuptial deal of course only benefits those who have enough resources to share or pass on, and the book focuses almost exclusively on these privileged stories. Whitehead demonstrates how nearly every argument for marriage equality is structured, and sometimes censored, so that it fits a neo-liberal narrative. Through the obvious argument of increased tax revenues for the state, the argument that marriage benefits all homosexuals by promoting acceptance and understanding in society, homosexual’s desires to internalize their family health and economic concerns, and an overemphasis on the homonormative monogamy in the LGBT community Whitehead demonstrates why homosexuals traded other social concerns to fight for same-sex marriage. One powerful quote reads, “Proponents of same-sex marriage do not question the symbolic power of the state to create social groups or categories… instead, they struggle for the capital of recognition that these categories afford” (108).

Dr. Whitehead is aptly positioned to render this study and discuss its results as she is a sociologist with specializations in gender, sexuality, family, emotions, and social theory. A professor at Pacific University in Oregon she has contributed a great deal to this field of literature through books, papers, lectures, and opinion pieces. Although The Nuptial Deal is partially ethnographic, and Whitehead therefore recounts many of her own experiences, she refrains almost completely from including her own opinions about the marriage equality movement or the efforts of MRN activists. The reader’s only insight is a brief paragraph in chapter one where Whitehead announces her own opposition to legal marriage as a restrictive institution, and although she celebrates the victories MRN achieved she is discouraged by the neglect necessary for these victories.

The Nuptial Deal is interdisciplinary in nature as it draws upon Whitehead’s background in sociological theory, ethnographic observations and interviews, and textual analysis of official court documents to present its arguments. Additionally Whitehead’s work situates comfortably between several literature narratives while adding an otherwise absent ethnographic component. She writes,

The concurrent development of the ‘right to marry’ and assaults on those who fail or refuse to live up to the neo-liberal model of the dual earning-couple have been at the forefront of queer, feminist, and gay and lesbian analysis of the family. With my discursive ethnography of same-sex marriage activism, I build on this literature by explaining how marriage can make neo-liberal calls for self regulation of population-level problems so enticing (18).

She additionally relies on, though does not elaborate, upon literature describing the history of same-sex marriage and its social contexts, and utilizes Foucault’s work on government and Bourdieu’s concepts of symbolic power to craft the reader’s understanding of neo-liberal governance.

While I found all components of The Nuptial Deal compelling, it is Whitehead’s unique use of ethnographic interviews that served to best convince the reader of the influences of neo-liberalism in the marriage equality movement. She includes quotes and stories both promoted and silenced by MRN, and through these she uncovers what is unnatural about the argument that marriage is a natural union. The first example is one of careful language choice that demonstrates how pointed MRN’s argument was. Whitehead observed a discussion between new members; they used the phrase “same-sex marriage” several times before being interrupted by a leader. “It’s called ‘marriage equality,’ not ‘same-sex marriage.’ We really don’t want to use those words because it brings the bedroom into it” (96). This quote serves as a convenient and convincing way for Whitehead to articulate MRN’s desires to normalize the gay community to the public.

Another key argument in The Nuptial Deal is that the same-sex arguments fights the slippery slope argument my buttressing the superiority of monogamy in promoting stable societies. This secures gay marriages without leaving the door open for a fundamental change in the institution of marriage or allowing similar rights to polyamorous relationships. Whitehead’s interviews with various MRN members reveal how strongly this point is emphasized as well as the opinions of members who disagree but do not speak out. For example when she asked one member about marriage’s discrimination of alternate forms of intimacy he replied, “It’s definitely on the fringe… I am just personally such a strong believer in monogamy that, um, I don’t [see it]. I have a hard time seeing it as discrimination” (144); while others expressed agreement with Whitehead’s point and did not agree with the inherent dangers at the end of the “slippery slope.”

Much like the speaker in the quote above the reader is unfortunately not brought to see the true discrimination of marriage. Whitehead includes stories of middle class gay couples struggling with school pick-ups or filling out forms, but she does not include stories of those truly marginalized by the institution of marriage. She looks for blind spots within MRN noting that all leadership positions are held by white upper-middle class homonormative couples, but she does little to correct for these blind spots in her own analysis. An ethnographic account of someone who rejects marriage, even the author herself, would have served her argument well, and without it we are left, like many in MRN, “not seeing” the full oppression of marriage.

Whitehead is convincing in her claims of the influences of neo-liberalism on the discourse of marriage equality, but as a reader I was left desiring a stronger historical exploration of just how the two ideas emerged and eventually converged. Whitehead contrasts the current gay respectability to the more radical standpoints of the 60s and 70s. She also contrasts current neo-liberal concepts to an earlier time when the state was seen in opposition to the free market, but she does explain how we got where we are today. Although a full discussion of these two evolutions might prove too lengthy or beside the point, I was disappointed by the lack of historical discussion on the two prominent ideas in the book.

As is mentioned above I found The Nuptial Deal to be clearly written, expertly argued, and generally compelling[ii]. As a child from a single-parent household I am no stranger to the structural and sociological benefits marriage provides. For this reason I was, like Whitehead, able to appreciate the strides made for marriage equality while still being conscious of those that were excluded from the nuptial deal. I believe the author focused too narrowly on her fieldwork with MRN, and an increase in the dissenting opinions throughout history and today would give the reader a fuller understanding of the problem at hand. Nonetheless the book excels in its contributions to queer studies, sociological and family studies, and the general public’s discourse on same-sex marriage. Although written during the pinnacle of the marriage equality debate The Nuptial Deal remains an important discussion of the impact of neo-liberal governance and will remain relevant long after the court’s 2015 decision.

[i] Marriage Rights Now! is a pseudonym for the actual organization Whitehead studied.

[ii] Although I don’t recommend reading most of the book on Valentine’s Day, as I did, if you plan to celebrate the inherently monogamous holiday.

 

Bibliography

Whitehead, Jaye Cee. The Nuptial Deal: Same Sex Marriage and Neo-Liberal      Governance. University of Chicago Press. December 2011. Print

“Jaye Cee Whitehead, PhD.” Pacific University Oregon Website. Pacific.edu. n.d. Web. 15 February 2015.

 

 

Black Masculinity and the U.S. South: From Uncle Tom to Gangsta

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

Black Masculinity

I first picked up Riché Richardson’s book, Black Masculinity in the U.S. South: From Uncle Tom to Gangsta solely because I have great respect anyone who can get a scholarly work published with the word “gangsta” in the title. I was unprepared for the depth and scope of the work I had before me. Upon initially picking up the book, I was surprised by what felt like a narrow approach to a broad topic. Richardson approaches her subject through the lens of southern black literature (not the well-known kind) published mostly in the 1960’s-1980’s. As I read, I changed my mind about just how narrow Richardson’s lens was. Upon finishing the book, Richardson’s choice of popular film, literature, and music appeared suited vehicles through which to explore to the portrayal of black southern masculinity.

Riché Richardson was an associate professor of English at the University of California Davis when she first published Black Masculinity. She credits personal interest in the south as one of the major motivators in pursuing the project: “Admittedly, my background as an African American born and raised in the south has partly fueled my passion to engage in systematic critical reflection on the region,” says Richardson in her introduction.[1] She credits scholars in the Duke English department for allowing her the creativity to be experimental in her methods in a time when the field of “southern studies” was in the process of big change. The change to which Richardson referred was the development of the field of “new southern Studies;” Black Masculinity is Richardson’s foray into this field. Richardson’s second intervention is into the field of black masculinity. Recent years have brought scholarship investigating hierarchies of sexuality within black masculinity, “however,” Richardson argues, “beyond the expanded conceptions of black masculinity yielded by the work on sexuality, black men frequently continue to be treated as an undifferentiated and monolithic racial and gender category.”[2] Black Masculinity and the U.S. South is Richardson’s venture into the intersecting fields of southern studies and studies of black masculinity.

Richardson’s analysis of southern black masculinity follows a rough timeline from the roots of the Jim Crow south in the beginning of the Klu Klux Klan, through the civil rights movements of the 1960’s, and into today’s “Southern Rap” movement. She argues that southern black masculinity exists at the bottom of a hierarchy of black masculinities, and that culturally prevalent “types” of the southern black masculine identity are the foundation of the hierarchy. Types such as the “uncle Tom” or the “black rapist” are rooted in the Jim Crow and slavery south, and are the tools through which southern black masculinity has been subjugated to other black masculinities. Richardson calls for studies that probe distinctive black masculinities, and proposes her study founded on regional masculinity as the beginning of such a process.

Richardson begins chapter one with the identification of three “types” of black masculinity, both of which are clearly rooted in the south: the bad negro and the black rapist. The bad negro is the black man who is a lawbreaker and a trouble maker. Richardson roots the bad negro type firmly in the south by claiming him as “an outgrowth of the “rebel slave,” with roots in African American folklore.”[3] The bad negro of the civil rights era was “not essentially bad so much as the fruit of the repressive southern Jim Crow ethos.”[4] The second type –the black rapist—grows out of the bad negro. The black rapist is the white supremacist version of the bad negro. He is not only bad, he is dirty and animalistic: he has designs to pollute the white race by raping white women. The third type is the antithesis of the first two: the uncle Tom is the passive and has evolved into an asexual (and sometimes homosexual) type. The black rapist is primarily a vehicle of white oppression, the uncle Tom is primarily a vehicle of black oppression: the bad negro has been used by both groups to oppress southern black men.

All three types are key to Richardson’s analysis. In Chapter one, Richardson turns to a reflection of the bad negro and the black rapist in white supremacist thought as explored in William Bradford Huie’s novel The Klansman. (Which is itself a complicated parody of and reflection upon the white supremacist thought prevalent in The Birth of a Nation and The Clansman). The movie The Klansman, released seven years later, offers a reflection on the way that the types influenced the black power movements of the 1960’s. Richardson argues that changes made in Huie’s novel when it was adapted for screenplay reflect the appropriation of the bad negro type by the black power movement. Authentic black masculinity was linked with violence in resistance: by shifting a key scene in the novel away from the rape of a black woman and onto the lynching of a black man, the creators of the movie the Klansman highlight white supremacists’ attack on black masculinity. Richardson finishes her chapter with an analysis of O.J. Simpson’s characterization of a “bad negro” type following his arrest ad highly-publicized trial. The bad negro and the black rapist type are mixed in O.J.’s portrayal when his white wife is examined as a part of his identity.

Chapters two and three move beyond Richardson’s analysis of black masculine identity in the south as formulated by white supremacists and into the inner hierarchies of black masculinity. Richardson uses chapter two to explore the hierarchies of black masculinity, and chapter three to connect the white supremacist ideologies of the bad negro and black rapist to the formation of the black masculine hierarchy. Richardson uses the vehicle of Charles Fuller’s work A Soldier’s Play to begin to examine how black men relate among themselves. Through the struggles of an all-black army unit in WWII, Richardson argues that Fuller exposes the stereotypes of southern black men that are used for their degradation, such as stupidity and animalistic sexuality (both of which are based in the white supremacist thought that produced types such as the black rapist). In Richardson’s argument, I was beginning to see the connection between a black southern masculine identity, as defined by white supremacists, and the denigration of black southern men by other black men. Fuller’s exploration of this denigration, argues Richardson, was intended to expose the flaws in hierarchical black masculinity. Richardson believes Fuller failed, and I was inclined to agree. Fuller, in assigning the Northern Black male as the hero of the story and relegating the southern male character to a silent death, perpetuates the hierarchy that places southern black masculinity below that of the urban north.

Chapter three, and Ralph Elison’s Invisible Man, allow Richardson to explain why hierarchies like those exposed through Fuller’s A Soldier’s Play exist, through the lens of black rural otherness. Richardson argues that Elison’s use of Invisible Man to juxtapose white American subjectivity with elite notions of blackness within the African American south exposes the root of the subjugation of southern black masculinities to other black masculinities: the discourse of southern white supremacists, who use the black rapist character to identify the southern black male with animalistic sexuality, allows other black masculinities a sense of superiority. Richardson’s exploration of Invisible Man was the glue that held chapters one and two together, and began to weave the created types of black masculine identity into black men’s own performance of their masculinity.

Richardson is careful to point out that ultimately Elison, like Fuller, is unable to escape the trap of perpetuating the stereotypes of black masculinity: Elison’s hero (like Fuller’s) ultimately ends up appealing to the north for the formation of his authentic masculine identity. “The novel advances the logic of urban as authentic in definitions of black masculinity.”[5] Richardson demonstrated that because  black masculinity in both Elison and Fuller’s stories was constructed by, but not of, the southern types against which it was opposed, northern black masculinity dominated.

Richardson explores how this dominant ideology of northern (and urban) masculinity was expanded by the  black power movement of the 1960’s: specifically the speeches of Malcom X. Malcom X subjugated not only southern black masculinity, in ferociously denying his southern roots, but also through the use of the uncle Tom type. In several speeches, Malcom X invoked the uncle Tom as not only a rural and passive character, but also as a character that was homosexual: pleasing his white master and desiring him in an erotic and subservient way. By invoking the uncle Tom as homosexual, rural, and passive, Richardson holds that Malcom X links authentic black masculinity with an urban setting, heterosexuality, and violence. According to Richardson, this hyper-masculine, sexualized type of back masculinity is perpetuated by Spike Lee in his films of the 1960’s such as Get on the Bus, School Daze, and Bamboozled. Richardson sets up her final chapter when she argues that Malcom X and Spike Lee’s promotion of violent urban and sexualized black masculinity paved the way for the rise of gangsta rap.

The final chapter is where I finally began to see how the strands of Richardson’s narrative came together to offer a coherent description of black masculinity. Chapter five presents Richardson’s analysis of modern “southern rap” as it engages with the types present throughout all of black masculinity. In the beginning of the chapter, Richardson raises the question: Does the popularity of southern rap (rap being an inherently urban and masculine art) gained in recent years through the success of groups like No Limit records and Cash Money Millionaires, represent an elevation of black southern masculinity in the hierarchy of black masculinity itself? Richardson’s analysis would seem to say no. Richardson’s southern rappers are not freeing themselves through their rise in popular rap culture; they are only binding themselves again to the oppressive types of southern masculinity originally propagated by white supremacists.

Richardson shows how young black rappers claiming to “gangstas” and “playas” is just a re-casting of the bad negro and black rapist types initiated by white supremacists in the beginning of the formation of black masculine identity in the south. Southern rap has thrived playing with the stereotypes of which it is all-too conscious. Southern rappers have “turned southern stereotypes into a commodity.”[6] Yet, it appeared to me that the black southern rappers of Richardson’s final

The Album Cover of Joe Blakk's "Way Down South"
The Album Cover of Joe Blakk’s “Way Down South”

chapter fell into just the same traps as the novelists in the chapters before them; calling out southern stereotypes only reinforces them, and secures the idea of a urban and northern masculine identity. At one point, Richardson analyzes Joe Blakk’s “Way Down South” and comes to the same conclusions as I did: “While it confronts the condescending attitudes of Northerners, the message of “Way Down South,” which at bottom, says that “we are just like you” in some ways concedes the superiority and exemplariness of northern models of black masculinity. The South emerges as a mere simulacrum by its logic.”[7]

The South emerges as a mere simulacrum… Richardson’s own words critique her work, for after reading Black Masculinity, I can see the southern black masculine identity as nothing but a simulacrum. The problem with Black Masculinity is its inherent suggestion that the nature of black masculine identity is the shadow of the reflection of white supremacist thought. After finishing Richardson’s book I was left wondering, what is the true nature of black southern masculinity? It has been cast as the uncle tom, or the bad negro, or the black rapist. It has been subjugated below violent urban masculinity by non-southern black men’s appropriation of white supremacist types of black masculinity. If southern black masculinity really is the root of so much of universal black masculinity (as Richardson claims), why can she not offer a concrete definition of black masculinity apart from the ghost of white supremacism? Throughout her whole work, Richardson never once suggests a definition for black masculinity.

And maybe, just maybe, a definition of the essence of southern black masculinity was not the goal for which Richardson was aiming. Black Masculinity and the U.S. South is a strong examination of the historical treatment of the black male identity as evidenced through cultural artifacts. Richardson’s use of texts and film is engaging, and effective when in each chapter she pairs the cultural artifact with a historical or current event. When discussing The Birth of a Nation, for example, Richardson displayed the relevance of her argument by connecting her theory of the film to O.J. Simpson’s trial. After reading Black Masculinity, I am convinced of the need for a geographical analysis of identity categories, especially when it comes to race. Richardson’s argument that much of universal black masculinity finds its roots in the south is compelling, as is her argument that southern black masculinity is subjugated through the use of historical types. In light of this subjugation, asking for a historical definition of southern black masculinity may be beside the point. The most important part of investigating black masculinity in the U.S. south may be the way it engages historically, not its essence. Maybe all Richardson’s work needs is a new title : Cultural Reactions to Black Masculinity and the U.S. South, or something along those lines. Of course, if only for the sake of my own interest, she’ll have to keep “gangsta” in the title.

 

 

 

[1] Richardson, Black Masculinity and the U.S. South (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2007), 11.

[2] Ibid, 8.

[3] Ibid, 33.

[4] Ibid, 34.

[5] Ibid, 156.

[6] Ibid, 207.

[7] Ibid, 218.

Changing Ideals of Women in Sports, UFC, and Ronda Rousey

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

ronda-rousey-changing-societys-traditional-ideals-about-women-in-sportshttp:

http://http://www.theguardian.com/sport/2015/nov/13/ronda-rousey-feminism-complex-imperfect-divides-womens-rights-activists-equal-pay-transgender-rights

Anyone who follows any sport knows about UFC Fighter Ronda Rousey. In the past year, she has broken as a star in the UFC (ultimate Fighting Championship). Rousey began to pave her path when she became the first woman to sign with UFC in 2012. Since then, she has become the most dominant female fighter in the UFC, up until her lose to Holly Holm. Because of Ronda’s success in the UFC a long with her current loss to Holm, Rousey has made all fans of UFC and fans of fighting sports to turn and follow the women’s UFC fights. In becoming one of the head stars of the UFC and in any women sports, Rousey is not only challenging social norms for women in sports, but also social norms for women in society.

When asked about her opinion on a pay dispute that is going on between an Australian women’s soccer team, Rousey responded “I think that how much you get paid should have something to do with how much you bring in, I’m the highest paid fighter not because Dana and Lorenzo wanted to do something nice for the ladies. They do it because I bring in the highest numbers. They do it because I make them the most money. And I think the money that they make should be proportionate to the money they bring in.” On another occasion when asked about criticism of her body as being “too masculine”, Rousey responded, “I think it’s femininely bad-a** as fuck, because there not a single muscle in my body that isn’t used for a purpose, because I’m not a do-nothing b****.”

It is interesting to see how Ronda Rousey does not specifically fits what it means to be “masculine” or “feminine” by societies standards. In addition, Rousey has not identified herself as a feminist and she has continued to be criticized by both genders for being to “masculine” and not standing up for what is believed to be equal pay. It seems that our culture wants public icons to be superficial and their views to be easy to understand. I hope Rousey continues to challenge gender norms in sports and in society and helps pave the way for women in other sports.

Younger: Inside Women

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

For anyone who watches Younger, the T.V. show, their recent episode talks about a male author who is trying to find his inner feminism and trying to find ways in feeling like and being like a female. In the beginning of the episode, the editor said that when his book on feminism publishes, he would be the new Betty Friedan. In this video, the male authors states that men cannot help feminism from the outside no matter how hard he tries to do certain things that only females can do.

Similar to Friedan’s writing, he does not consider other factors that can come into play. Friedan’s work only portray white middle class females and does not consider racial factors as well as other identity factors. The white male author in this video is similar in the manner that he does not consider other identity factors as well. I do like how the male author mentions the situation with urinals and that men are literally standing above in order to assert their power, which was discussed in previous class discussion when mentioning reverse racisms and how that does not exist. Additionally, he explains how menstruation is considered to be disgusting in our society similar to how Cixous explain in her text that sexual activities and other natural activities have to be kept in secret and that females have to repress their natural biological needs.

Charlotte CouncilWoman LaWana Mayfield

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

On Saturdahttps://gss101.melissamgonzalez.com/wp-admin/post-new.phpy, February 6, Charlotte Councilwoman LaWana Mayfield came to visit campus and spoke about her experiences as the first openly LGBTQ member to be elected to Charlotte City Council. Although she faced a childhood full of adversity, LaWana did not let this affect her and continued on a journey of public policy from a young age.

LaWana spoke of her career in LGBT rights and her personal journey into finding herself as a LGBTQ individual. She said that it wasn’t something that she knew all along, and in fact, she was in her mid-twenties before she had the first thoughts of the possibility that she may be a lesbian. It took her a few more years and a lot of self-searching before fully accepting and coming to the realization that she was a lesbian. When asked, she said that she had always felt like she had been ‘part lesbian’ but she hadn’t always been a full, relationship seeking lesbian.

I feel like this is evidence of Rich’s lesbian continuum in which everyone falls somewhere along the continuum and where exactly you fall can shift throughout your lifetime. At the beginning of her life, Miss Mayfield was not as far on the continuum as she currently identifies, however, she still identified herself as falling somewhere on the scale.

Since her election six years ago, she has worked tirelessly on many economic as well as social issues in her area, some of her greatest achievements being: getting Charlotte Airport in her district, the non-discrimination act extended for Charlotte, and her current battle of the “Bathroom Bill.”  Although she takes LGBT issues very seriously, she said that one of the hardest things about holding a political office as an openly LGBTQ member is not letting that title define her. She says that she cares deeply about economic policies and that is the real reason she began her career in social justice. Sometimes, many people in the LGBT community will express their anger with her because she doesn’t always make those social changes her number one priority.

 

Experts only go so far

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

In our lecture on Thursday, we reevaluated Katz and Foucault’s stance on experts, especially in relation to “Our Bodies, Ourselves”.  “Our Bodies, Ourselves” says “once we had learned what the ‘experts’ had to tell us, we found that we still had a lot to teach and to learn from one another,” implying that experts are not the only source of information, and are not always a reputable source of information.  As Katz and Foucault argue, experts themselves are members of society and as such are swayed by society.

Last year I was in a Davidson doctor’s office.  After waiting 2 hours past my appointment time, I was finally called back.  The first publicized rapes on campus were coming out, and the media was having a field day.  So of course my nurse wanted to ask me all about it.  I have to say, I have heard stories and seen arguments about how awful rape culture is, but it never really stuck to me.  This is the first day I became truly angry about how rape is handled.  The nurse used all the arguments I have heard before, they were probably drunk, they were probably dressed provocatively, etc., but for the first time these arguments felt like attacks on me personally.

The nurse admitted that she had a 17 year old son in high school in the Davidson area.  She argued that 13 year old girls were walking down the street wearing barely anything.  She said “how am I supposed to stop my son from viewing them sexually and raping them if they are dressed in that kind of way.”  I was dumbfounded.  Had someone in the medical community really just said that?  In our last class, I got to thinking.  How would this nurse had viewed things differently if her 17 year old had been a daughter and not a son?  Would she have expressed concern the other way?  Would she have fought this victim-shaming rape culture which she was a part of?  And my goodness, what type of parenting is being taught nowadays?!?

Experts are effected.  Experts are not only effected by the changes and waves of society’s thinking, but also by their own bubble.  Their own friends, their own family structures.  This nurse was in no way right, and in no way was it acceptable to say all of this to me, a person she had just met.  However, this example shows us (an extreme way) of how society and family culture effects views.  Experts cannot be trusted for everything.

Queer Expression through Writing

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

Screen Shot 2016-02-14 at 3.20.48 PM

The other day for class we read The Laugh of the Medusa by Hélène Cixous. In this piece she argues the need for women to write.  She holds the claim that all women must write in order to liberate themselves, as well as to help transform the culture.  She places a significant importance on writing by saying, “To write. An act which will not only “realize” the censored relation of woman to her sexuality, to her womanly being, giving her access to her native strength; it will give her back her goods, her pleasures, her organs, her immense bodily territories which have been kept under seal”.  I believe that this excerpt from the article can be applied to the queer community in our generation today.  I found online a “teaching tool” for how to construct a class in order to encourage teenagers of the queer community to write about their bodies and their “coming-out” stories in order to reconnect with their sexuality or just simply express it.  I believe that Cixous would encourage exactly what this teacher is advocating for because writing helps you gain a better understanding of yourself and contributes to self-confidence.

Bossy (Power of Language in the Workplace)

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

When reading Bell Hooks’ Black Women: Shaping Feminist Theory, I came across the following quote: “Women [spend] a weekend in an expensive workshop that guarantees to teach you how to become assertive (but not aggressive).” Immediately, I remembered a commercial I saw a couple years ago sponsored by Pantene. This commercial compared the language used to describe educated women in positions of power, such as politics or CEOs, with their male counterparts in the same exact job. Not only are women discriminated against in the workplace financially, they are also put at a disadvantage for holding positions of authority by male coworkers and male identification. For so long women have be instilled with notions of proper “femininity” and what it means to be a woman, and to an extent a good housewife. According to Foucault’s repression hypothesis, this innate nature of women is actually institutionalized by the patriarchal society and is a form of oppression. How we describe women and men is very important in the language we use. Due to society’s interpretation of words like “bossy” and “boss,” these words have been engendered and therefore serve as a form of discrimination against women or less masculine men.

She’s Beautiful When She’s Angry

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

The documentary She’s Beautiful When She’s Angry was first shown to me in my Anthropology of Social Movements class last semester. This film traces the women’s liberation movement in the 1960s and 1970s, specifically focusing on activist groups like the National Organization for Women (NOW) and Black Sisters United. The collection of women interviewed for this film were part of these groups as well as leaders of lesbian activism sects and the writers of Our Bodies, Ourselves. When reading Betty Friedan’s except from The Feminine Mystique, this documentary automatically came to mind as women were arguing for equal rights not only inside the home as mothers, but also in economics and education. But I also found this documentary very interesting because of how it addressed the intersectionality of race and gender in this period of the women’s rights movement, such as Bell Hooks writes about in Black Women: Shaping Feminist Theory. Hooks states that Friedan “ignored the existence of all non-white women and poor white women” the same way that many African American and lesbian women saw “feminist radicalism [lose] ground to bourgeois feminism.” Lesbians at the time were also rebelling against compulsory heterosexuality and male identification as they felt they had a right to voice their opinion in the women’s liberation movement as shown in the documentary. She’s Beautiful When She’s Angry shows the dynamic intersectionality of race, class, and gender during the women’s right movement in the late 1960s and early 1970s.

Selena Gomez Refusing to Feel Shameful

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

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Selena Gomez “Revival”

For today’s class we read the Boston Women’s Health-Book Collective, Our Bodies, Ourselves, which “inspired feminist analyses of the body, health, and sexuality”. This piece demonstrated the theme that women should not be shameful of their bodies or their bodies’ functions in anyway; and, unfortunately this takes effort because women have been raised TO be embarrassed by their bodies.  In this article Selena Gomez speaks out about how she no longer will listen to others shaming her body.  She refuses to be hurt by other’s nasty comments about how her body should look as a “woman” or how she should use her body.  Her stand reminded me of the quote in Our Bodies, Ourselves, when it said, “learning to understand, accept, and be responsible for our physical selves, we are freed of some of these preoccupations and can start to use our untapped energies”, which Selena used her “untapped energy” to create her most recent album, “Revival”.

 

 

The Power of Serena Williams

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

The December 2015 issue of Sports Illustrated displayed a beautiful and powerful Serena Williams under the title: Sportsperson of the Year. The cover shows Williams lounging on a golden throne, wearing a form-fitting black bodysuit and black high heels. And according to SI’s twitter, “the cover was Serena’s idea, to express her own ideal of femininity, strength and power.”[1] And yet, controversy soon followed, regarding both the magazine’s cover and the fact she won this award in the first place. Such debates highlight both the sexism and racism that Serena Williams encounters, and the intersectionality of those encounters.

Soon after this issue’s release, the sexist comments began. Many said that it was too sexy, which is somewhat ironic considering that Sports Illustrated annually publishes their Swimsuit Issue, which shows models wearing far less. But this is far from Williams’ first experience with body shaming. Just earlier this year, she became the target of body shaming, especially through social media, where she was commonly called things like ‘manly.’

This focus on and policing of female bodies is all too common for female athletes. Women are pressured to not only be successful athletes, by being strong and powerful, but also to maintain a feminine physique—an almost impossible balance. When has a successful male athlete been criticized for looking strong and powerful? Women on the other hand, regardless of their personal motivations, are expected to maintain a certain level of femininity. Serena Williams has responded to such commentary with positivity, emphasizing that she loves being a strong, powerful woman. For example, in her Sportsperson of the Year acceptance speech, she said, “I’ve had people look down on me, put me down because I didn’t look like them — I look stronger.”[2]

Such sexist comments about her lack of femininity also distract from her true strength and athletic ability. Even though she is one of the most dominant tennis players ever seen, “she has scores of detractors who will focus on what her body looks like, find fault with her domineering demeanor on the court or attack the grunts she makes as she pounds out unreturnable serves at 120 mph.”[3]  She is again expected to maintain a certain level of femininity–even while on the court.

But a Huffington Post article delved deeper into the conversation about the body shaming of Serena Williams. This writer claims that when she “has been described by online commenters and journalists alike as a ‘gorilla,’ ‘manly’ and as ‘savage’,” its really about race.[4] How we discuss Serena Williams’ body and her as an athlete illustrates “a kind of dehumanization specific to black women,” and the intersectionality of her experience. [5] The fact of the matter is, while body policing happens to almost all female athletes, it is never the same as the policing of black female athletes. The writer explains that “black women — world-class athletes or otherwise — find themselves continuously othered and compared to white women, no matter what they do or how they look.”[6]

Williams herself has commented on racism that she has experienced. Previously, she has said that she is “in a sport that wasn’t really meant for black people.”[7] In her Sportsperson of the Year acceptance speech, she says, “I’ve had people look past me because of the color of my skin.”[8] And she then goes on  to mention the naysayers she has experienced along the way, saying “I’ve had critics say I [would] never win another Grand Slam when I was only at number seven — and here I stand today with 21 Grand Slam titles, and I’m still going.”[9] Drop the mic.

But generally speaking, all of the controversy surrounding both the Sports Illustrated cover and the Sports Illustrated award seems especially ridiculous when one considers the rarity of someone like Serena Williams receiving both. First, it has been 30 years since a woman has been recognized solo—Mary Decker won the award in 1983. Women have only been recognized a total of ten times, only to share the award with others. The most recent example of this being in 2011, when Pat Summit won the award only to share it with Duke men’s basketball coach Mike Kryzyzewski. Second, Williams is only one of a handful of nonwhite recipients of the award. Serena Williams is the first ever black woman to win the award solo. And yet, no matter how much she deserved the award, some still would have rather seen a horse win the Sportsperson of the Year award than a powerful and talented black woman.

This Sports Illustrated cover seems to be a moment of Serena Williams taking back all of these conversations, creating an image “to express her own ideal of femininity, strength, and power.”[10] Through it, she creates her own definitions, which unmistakably contrast all of the negative commentary that surrounds her. It sends a clear message that a black woman can be both sexy and powerful. And Shana Renee, an ESPN writer, gets it right when she calls this a “boss move.”[11]

https://twitter.com/SInow/status/676703283965227008/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw

[1]https://twitter.com/SInow/status/676703283965227008/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw

[2]Spies-Gans, Juliet. “Serena Williams Takes On Body-Shaming Haters In Powerful Speech.” The Huffington Post. Last modified December 16, 2015. Accessed February 10, 2016. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/serena-williams-sportsperson-year-ceremony-speech_us_56717235e4b0dfd4bcbffcbf.

[3]Renee, Shana. “The Power Of Serena Williams’ Sports Illustrated Cover.” espn.go.com. Last modified December 16, 2015. Accessed February 10, 2016. http://espn.go.com/espnw/news-commentary/article/14377269/the-power-serena-williams-sports-illustrated-cover.

[4]Blay, Zeba. “When We Attack Serena Williams’ Body, It’s Really About Her Blackness.”The Huffington Post. Last modified July 13, 2015. Accessed February 10, 2016. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/serena-williams-policing-of-black-bodies_us_55a3bef4e4b0a47ac15ccc00?utm_hp_ref=black-voices.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] “The Power of Serena Williams’ Sports Illustrated Cover.”

[8] “Serena Williams Takes on Body-Shaming Haters In Powerful Speech.”

[9] Ibid.

[10]https://twitter.com/SInow/status/676703283965227008/photo/1?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw

[11] “The Power of Serena Williams’ Sports Illustrated Cover.”

Demi Lovato’s “Cool for the Summer (…and Fall and Winter and Spring)”

Posted on by Spring 2016 Student

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=il9nqWw9W3Y

Only five days after same-sex marriage was legalized last June, Demi Lovato released “Cool for the Summer,” the first single off her latest album Confident. The timing of the song’s release could not have been more appropriate given the Supreme Court’s ruling and the time of year. As summer is the season of warm weather, less clothing, relaxation and freedom for many young people, Lovato’s song quickly became a nationwide anthem for the hottest months of the year. With Lovato’s sultry voice and the heavy electronic beat pulsing in the back, “Cool for the Summer” received lots of air time on the radio to become what blogger Spencer Kornhaber called the potential “The Next Great Gay Anthem.” However, after listening to these lyrics and watching the music video numerous times over the past 7 months, there are aspects of the performance that make me question just how progressive it really is.

The lyrics of the song are not complex; Demi Lovato is clearly addressing a young woman she is attracted to and wants to make advances on as she sings, “I’m a little curious too – I don’t care – I can keep a secret, can you?” At this point, the lyrics point to both women expressing mutual sexual interest, though if you were to watch the music video without sound you would not know this because until halfway through the music video there is very minimal homoerotic interaction between the women. Lovato is filmed driving down a highway in a convertible with 4 other attractive women all dressed up to go for a night out, but there is no clear indication that there will be any filmic evidence of her attraction to females at this point. In the bridge, Lovato sings “Shhh… Don’t tell your mother – We’re cool for the summer.” As Kornhaber states in his article, “the singer’s same-sex smooching is presented as shenanigans—sneaky, rebellious, unapproved.” At this point, though she breaks through the fear of initiating woman-to-woman contact, her lyrics perpetuate the idea that having sexual relations with women is something to be kept secret and only acceptable as a fleeting experience, just like the summer months that pass by so quickly.

In Adrienne Rich’s work Compulsory Heterosexuality, she expands on the idea of the male gaze, which might be partly why the song and the music video both have a sense of caution or restraint, so not to reveal too much overt homoeroticism. Rich states, “However woman-to-woman relationships, female support networks, … are relied on and cherished, indoctrination in male credibility and status can still create synapses in thought, denials of feelings, wishful thinking, a profound sexual and intellectual confusion” (646). Because the idea of compulsory heterosexuality stems largely from the power play of the male gaze, the fear of fully expressing or denying one’s homosexuality is evident in Lovato’s secretiveness of the encounter both lyrically and visually. The furthest extent to which the audience views any act of attraction between women is a poorly lighted shot lasting less than half a second of Lovato kissing another woman in a nightclub. In this way, the music video censors the act of two women kissing from the public eye, which reflects to a certain degree the insecurity of being ostracized by a homophobic public.

In an interview with Alan Carr, Demi Lovato was asked whether or not “Cool for the Summer” was her way of outing herself as a lesbian, to which she answered indirectly. She responded by saying, “I’m not confirming and I’m definitely not denying.” She followed up by explaining that all of her songs are “based off of personal experiences,” and that “there’s nothing wrong with experimentation at all.” Carr’s assumption that because she wrote a song about a sexual encounter with a woman that she is a lesbian is an example of the misconception that sexuality is a two way street: either you are heterosexual or you are homosexual. This plays into the phenomenon of bi-erasure, where people negate the sexual experiences and relationships of someone falling somewhere between and write them off either by their spontaneous encounters or by defining them based on one experience. “Cool for the Summer” does exemplify Rich’s concept of the “lesbian continuum,” which is the range “of woman-identified experience; not simply the fact that a woman has had or consciously desired genital sexual experience with another woman” (648). Regardless of the way that the lyrics were depicted in the music video, the song embodies the concept of this so-called “lesbian continuum,” and it is clear that Lovato accomplishes a sense of self-assurance through it.

 

 

Works Cited

Lovato, Demi. Demi Lovato – Cool for the Summer (Official Video). YouTube. July 23, 2015.

Kornhaber, Spencer. “Demi Lovato’s ‘Cool for the Summer’: The Next Great Gay Anthem?” The Atlantic. July 14, 2015. http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2015/07/demi-lovatos-cool-for-the-summer-is-the-anti-i-kissed-a-girl/398426/

Marcus, Stephanie. “Demi Lovato Plays Coy About Her Sexuality While Discussing ‘Cool for the Summer.'” The Huffington Post. Sept. 14, 2015. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/demi-lovato-bisexual_us_55f736dee4b00e2cd5e7a3c5

Rich, Adrienne. “Compulsory heterosexuality and lesbian existence.” Signs5.4 (1980): 631-660.